These are the things they don’t tell us.– Girl Du Jour, from Notes on Uvalde I’m floating up, out of the operating room ceiling, through walls, the roof of the hospital, and into the night sky. Drowsy in the black expanse, I feel warm in a giant palm that closes around my nakedness. My hospital…
Category: dverse
dVerse — Poetics — Our Stories
(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women. — Amrita Pritam I hear her each morning before she rounds the corner heading to the well. It is a shuffling, almost furtive, where her worn sandals scuffle hard-packed dust. It would have been kinder to…
dVerse — Quadrille 153 — Greed’s Covet
Dawn blushes horizon’s lip as deer, mist-soaked, hooves to coats, browse. Drowsy after night’s day, they, dainty, step through stone testaments of dust. The grass is greenest here, over bones, where ghosts’ collective groans lament our kind’s terminal folly; our greed’s covet .……………………………………………over love. top image link Linda is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. …
dVerse — MTB Form — Constanza — A Cloudy Day (2nd offering)
A cloudy day and the wind blows scent of lilacs; infusing air, it lifts the tendrils of my hair. A cloudy day; buds on the rose; swelling green onions slow to burst. No aphids in sight; could be worse. A cloudy day; doves in repose, dozing cuddle in the pine tree post pecking; a morning…
dVerse — MTB — Constanza — recipe
recipe to aim for sleep takes common sense head toss and turn off at the pass when day is but a rosy lass take care, prepare with long defense decide where limits bring fatigue then go beyond; exhaust you seek to guarantee your plan’s success shed worry’s raimant at the door step naked into your…
dVerse — Quadrille 152 — A Contest Rests
A-drowse I muse, who is cuter asleep, baby fauna or Popeye. Sure, tiny heaving feathered, furred, or terried chests attest affection-stirred endearing as they engine-putter guileless nest; yet knowing benevolent, bell-bottoms-exchanged, in a nightshirted Miss Oyl’s Bluto savior’s dreamland bub bub bubs a contest rests. image link Sarah is today’s host for dVerse’ Quadrille Monday….
dVerse — Prosery — May Day Knocks
For how can I be sure I shall see again The world on the first of May –From “May Day” by Sara Teasdale I’ve fallen on black days. My ears are deaf to birdsong; nose unmoved by the scent of hyacinth; the soft crush of early strawberries between my molars untasted. Mid-Spring breezes skim over…
Tao Talk 